


Join the Club

by Katinka31



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katinka31/pseuds/Katinka31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casting a low glance around the Imperskiy Club, Officer Phryne Fisher took the smallest sip possible of her vodka martini and decided she’d likely throw a boot at her television, the next time a crime show depicted going undercover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PromisesArePieCrust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromisesArePieCrust/gifts).
  * Inspired by [City that Works](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065661) by [PromisesArePieCrust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromisesArePieCrust/pseuds/PromisesArePieCrust). 



> I'm greatly enjoying PromisesArePieCrust's modern AU with role-reversal, "City that Works". (Go read it! It's great fun, if occasionally heart-wrenching and agonizing.) I teased her that she needed to include an Imperial Club moment, and she challenged me to write it myself. So here we are! Don't expect fan feathers.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is utter silliness. I also know nothing about police procedure, dimly-lit nightclubs, or even Chicago.

Casting a low glance around the Imperskiy Club, Officer Phryne Fisher took the smallest sip possible of her vodka martini and decided she’d likely throw a boot at her television, the next time a crime show depicted going undercover. For female detectives on screen, that usually meant not much more than new lipstick and sexily tousled hair.  _This_ night had been several weeks in the making, and it hadn't been without inconvenience, but it was all culminating soon.  Despite her assumed languor, she could already feel the tense hum of adrenaline in her body.

She hadn’t sought out the assignment, but Griggs’ request had been a welcome distraction from the cautious peace she and Jack had settled into after the Ernesto Garcia incident.  If she didn’t have much contact with Jack, apart from some restrained texts and the occasional drop-in to her office, she could stop the disconcerting pattern of kissing the man whenever they were together.  The dismal thought had occurred more than once that perhaps he’d been too kind to stop her, once their lips had met.  She’d seen enough of Jack’s paramours to know that he flitted among a wide range of types, but still, “glum veteran” probably wasn’t one of them.

Phryne smoothed a hand down her dress.  A lucky break, that Sgt. Crossley’s brother owned a dress rental shop.  This one was rather pretty, if a half-size too tight, and cut a trifle lower than she would have chosen herself.  But more importantly, the flutter in the skirt concealed the handgun strapped to her upper thigh.  Her nice dresses were still back with Robert, and she hadn’t found the heart to stop by for them.  To be honest, she would have been hard-pressed to describe them, anyway.  After the Army, sartorial elegance had been the last thing on her mind, and she’d mutely accepted whatever the salesgirls had put into her hands.

Function.  Utility.  Routine.  Those were the things that had kept her head just above water in Iraq, and had given her something to cling to upon her return home.  Even her wardrobe had fallen victim to them, it would seem.  An entire evening in her apartment had been sacrificed to becoming reacquainted with heels.  She’d even had to inveigle the station’s medical examiner into helping her achieve a smoky eye, by good-naturedly threatening to reveal that Liz had once done a stint at Sephora.  Josh, her hairdresser, had berated her for the state of her ends, but he’d sent her home with something called “serum” that actually left her thick hair smooth and glossy.   Her perfume was a little heavier than the clean scents she usually favored, but Josh had assured her it was needed for authenticity. 

Lastly, a few Sunday visits with Yevgenia Alexandrova, her former afterschool babysitter, had helped re-awaken the cadences of the language in her head.  She felt poised, capable, _ready_.

Of course, she could have saved herself hours of trouble by just asking Jack for his help.  He would have known just the right shoes, dresses, accoutrements.  The prospect of dressing up was ridiculously exciting to him.  Although, his ideas would have likely ranged to Michigan Avenue boutiques that she couldn’t afford, not rental shops.  His penchant for throwing money around might have prompted him to pay for things, too, which he probably wouldn’t mind, but she most certainly would.  No, she didn’t want to be indebted to Jack Robinson, not for a dress, or…anything else.

Phryne gazed around the dimly-lit club again.  The emphasis on red velvet was a little dated, but it was exactly the kind of place where the Zhuk brothers would conduct business.  The Imperskiy Club was known for discreetly offering “company” to its patrons, for dinner or beyond, and the brothers weren’t exactly high on class. 

In fact, she’d had to spend considerable effort on previous reconnaissance visits in deflecting the advances of both Maxim and Dima – men probably ten years younger than her.  Preferring to lie as little as possible – less room for error that way – she’d assumed the persona of a recent divorcee.  A woman not wanting to be alone, but not yet ready for more.  _Nyeh gotova,_ she’d told them both with mournful eyes, after the caviar canapes.  Still, she sheepishly acknowledged, their boyish enthusiasm and obvious appreciation for her appearance had been a boost to her ego that she hadn’t known she’d needed.

Phryne shook herself out of her musings instantly at the sound of new arrivals to the club.  Waiters were stepping back deferentially, as a hostess guided two heavy-set men to a corner booth, where her colleagues had been awaiting them.  Phryne took a deep, calming breath behind her martini glass, tracking their movements beneath her heavily darkened lashes.  Bondarenko and Griggs were good, and Dubicki was mixing cocktails at the bar.  Multiple teams were concealed outside.  It was time.  She was prepared.

“ _Dobriy vecher_ ,” said a deep, resonant voice to her right.

Phryne glanced up, and her mouth dropped.  Oh, _damn him_.


	2. Chapter 2

Early in their courtship, Robert had playfully called her expression _enigmatic_.  After her first tour in Iraq, that had changed to _inscrutable_.  And later, in moments of spite, it was _empty_.  Whatever it was, Phryne was grateful that the shock of seeing Jack in the Imperskiy Club didn’t rattle her for long.  She couldn’t quite keep her shoulders from moving with her quickened pulse, though.

“ _Mozhno_?” he asked with a smile, gesturing at the space beside her. 

Phryne looked him up and down slowly – in detached appraisal, as various movies had suggested a woman in her situation might do – and tried not to dwell on the appealing effect that spoken Russian had on Jack’s mouth.  His hair was slicked back in waves, and everything from his well-cut suit to his silk pocked square was impeccable.  In other circumstances, she would have been tempted to poke fun at him for assuming the guise of an escort, but in this setting, his overwhelming air of masculine assurance made Maxim and Dima’s seduction attempts look like amateur theatrics.  It was…impressive.  Finally, she tilted her head in silent invitation.

Phryne lifted her glass as he sat and feigned a sip, letting the liquid just brush her lips.  “Jack Robinson, if you blow my cover, I will _murder_ you,” she murmured over the rim.  “ _Twice_.”

Jack moved closer and angled his body towards her, as though to give her his full attention.  “I have no intention of compromising you,” he said in a low voice, “but it’s not safe here tonight.”

“Of course it isn’t, _durak_ , but I’ve got my weapon – ”

“That is a fairly lethal dress,” he smirked.

“ – and there’s plenty of back-up outside.”  She furrowed her brow.  “Don’t tell me you moonlight here on weekends.”  She rather hoped Dubicki wasn’t witnessing this from the bar – he’d give her such grief later.

Jack turned his head and signaled for a drink of his own.  “I worked a case for the owner once,” he said under his breath.  “She’s not too eager to have the place shot up.” 

His hand brushed against hers softly on the tabletop, and he shot a cheeky look at her thigh.  “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Can you see it?” Phryne asked tersely, trying to contain a note of panic.  She hazarded a glance at the corner table.  Blini and drinks had been delivered, and it seemed opening pleasantries were still underway. 

Jack grinned broadly.  “No, but the dress doesn’t exactly leave room for Kevlar.”  Delicately, he placed three long fingers on her wrist, spreading them out across the back of her hand, and then drawing them in again.  “ _Krasavitsa,_ ” he murmured, clearly enjoying himself. 

Phryne leaned towards him with wide eyes and parted lips, as though she’s been visibly moved by his demonstration.  “ _Jackass_ ,” she whispered sweetly in return, when her face was close to his.  “Really, why are you here?”

He paused for a moment, before brushing her hair off one shoulder and bringing his mouth to her neck.  His breath was hot and insistent in the hollow under her ear. 

“The brothers are going to ask for an additional $50,000 in good faith,” he said quickly, “which they will say they’ll return after the shipment is accepted.  Knowing the Chicago PD, I was sure there wouldn’t be a penny more in the account than the amount on which they’d already agreed.”  Phryne thought he might have pressed his lips against her neck then, and she tried desperately to keep her eyes from fluttering shut.  The information was horrifying, though – Bondarenko and Griggs had thought the meeting too risky for comms, and they’d have no way of knowing this.

“If the transfer doesn’t clear, or they call your boys’ bluff,” Jack continued, moving a fraction lower, “they’ll know it’s a set-up, and all hell will break loose.”

“How did you hear this?” Phryne asked breathily, bringing her hand to his arm for support.  Her eyes flickered again to the corner table.  More intent discussions were underway, but everything _seemed_ to be going smoothly, for now.

“Benedykta’s cousin’s neighbor’s drycleaner.”

At that, her eyes did roll.  Of course, Jack would employ a housekeeper with inside knowledge of Chicago’s Eastern European criminal element.  And it wasn’t too hard to deduce that the account probably held the needed amount now.

“Chief would NEVER accept your money,” Phryne still said, pulling back from him.

“He did when he considered the pretty immediate alternative.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “You just didn’t want to be left out.”

“I only found out half an hour ago,” Jack answered.  He draped an arm around her shoulders smoothly.  “You weren’t answering your phone, I didn’t want to chance anyone overseeing a text, and your men aren’t wearing wires.  And I’m _not_ here to apologize, if it keeps you from getting yourself hurt”. 

Phryne turned to him sharply, expecting to see smug exhilaration on his face.  She found only sincerity in his returning look, though, which was possibly more distressing.  Still attempting to keep her cover, she dared to run a finger down Jack’s angular cheekbone, and then a short way across his jaw.

“Later,” she said with a small smile, “I will point out the deep irony of that statement, coming from you.” Their gazes caught for a long moment.

“There’s an alcove near the ladies room,” Jack whispered at length, not breaking eye contact.

Phryne swallowed.  “I know – I’ve seen it.”

“One of your boys might think to follow you, if you walk past the table.”

“I’ve already considered that.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

Phryne picked up her clutch unhurriedly, then softly pushed him back against the cushions of the booth, as though bidding her prospective lover to await her return.

“Give me a good head start?”

Jack smiled.  “As always.”

 

_Author’s note:   Thank you for indulging my flight of fancy!  And thank you to PromisesArePieCrust, for writing such a great fic in the first place.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming._

_Russian phrases:_

_Nyeh gotova = “not ready”_

_Dobriy vecher = “Good evening”_

_Mozhno? = “May I?”_

_Durak = “fool”_

_Krasavitsa = “beautiful woman”_


End file.
